Response 6

1,0
Held
Pauline Leitch
She stood on the threshold, a place
of half-light, of half-life, held between
two extremes, neither one thing
nor the other: able to feel the sun
on her face, yet within reach of the
draught from the cavernous hollow
at her back: simultaneously within
earshot of the sounds of joy and the
dark voices from within. Unable to
step too far in either direction for
fear that shadows would engulf the
sun, or her. Rooted in the misguided
belief that somehow, she fell
short of the mark. The voices that
perpetuated this notion billowing
around behind her, self-doubt falling
from the roof, a constant drip,
wdrip, drip feeding her thoughts and
starving her soul.
She’d had forays into the sun,
sojourned there long enough to
catch glimpses of her radiance
and frolic with friends and lovers,
to know the warmth, the delight,
the wonder. Momentarily free, but
always aware that she was on
the run and that the feelings of
unworthiness were faster and would
inevitably catch and return her
to her place of waiting, where she
could watch but no longer partake.
Relentlessly she played this game
of out and back, her lack of ability
to win known before she began,
like a moth burning itself against a
light bulb, over and over again, bzzz,
bzzzz, bzzzzz.